


Finish Lines

by dadpun (TailgatesHarem)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst??, M/M, Street Gang au, eventually, romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TailgatesHarem/pseuds/dadpun
Summary: Fate can be a delicate storyteller, a passionate friend, or just an asshole. But which role has fate played for young Akaashi all he wanted to do was live a simple life. But that's not a fun life, is it? When human whirlwind Bokuto Koutarou enters his life Akaashi becomes entangled in a dangerous balance of gang-related turf wars just because he stuck out his hand! Akaashi is constantly trying to avoid the drama, but eventually all roads lead to the same ending.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horrors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrors/gifts).



There’s opportunity in loneliness. The quiet fills every space with stillness and peace. However, this silence was not of a peaceful variety. This was the calm before the storm kind of quiet. 

 

Akaashi was just riding the train home from work. It was that simple. He hadn’t made any stupid decisions. No. It was this black and white haired lunatic that was the dumb one. 

 

Having always been repulsed by incessant noise, Akaashi had kept his headphones in playing some instrumental beats. He hadn’t heard what the odd looking one had said to two street punks but the punks were getting very close. 

 

It was just a split second when the odd looking one locked eyes with Akaashi with a side glance before the car broke loose in violence. One of the punks threw a fist forward and the calm passenger grabbed his arm, pulling him forward as he threw a uppercut into the punk’s abdomen. His friend staggered back, resolving just as quickly to attack. The black and white haired young man stood and ducked away from the young man’s weak left hook. Akaashi watched as this mysterious man moved like smoke between the two and stuck his hands in his pockets as if he were bored. This only egged the two men on. 

 

One lunged and missed miserably, the calm one slamming his elbow into his back as he stumbled past. The punk was about to fall onto a young woman who covered her head with a squeal, but the punk was held back by the collar. 

 

“Sorry, miss. Some guys just don’t have any manners,” the calm one smiled, throwing the punk aside on the floor. 

 

Behind him the other was coming up with a knife. It was then that Akaashi stopped being a frozen onlooker. Seeing the long knife threw him into action. His hand reached out and took the poorly aimed blow. It sliced the top of his right hand and did little to nothing to stop its momentum, but this only gained the mysterious man’s attention. He saw the blood spilling down Akaashi’s hand and grabbed the punks throat, free hand grabbing the punk’s hand that held the knife. He screamed as the young man dug his nails into his wrist tendons, air fleeting as the train came to a jerky halt. 

 

From the open station doors two attendants came in, whistles blowing. They shouted for the fighting to cease and approached. Eyes like a deer in the headlights the uninjured fighter dropped down and grabbed Akaashi by the shoulders and helped the confused young man to his feet. 

 

“Wait, where do you think you’re going?” One of the attendants demanded. “You’re just as much at fault as these injured young men.” 

 

“That’s not true,” a young woman shouted. 

 

“Yeah, those punks were in his face from the moment they got on!” 

 

“He was just defending himself. He even saved my sister,” another chimed, holding onto the young woman who had just barely missed being hit by the punk earlier. 

 

“Thank you, ladies. Now, officers, I have another civil duty to make sure this young man, who came to my aid, is patched up.” 

 

And with that Akaashi was whisked off the train and out of sight. While they were cutting through the crowd at high speed the strange young man leaned close to Akaashi’s ear and whispered, “Don’t look back they might be chasing us.” 

 

“Wait… what?” 

 

“I said--” He began when a voice cut loud through the station behind them both. 

 

“Oi! Fukurodani!” A voice yelled. 

 

“Oops.” 

 

Just as fast at the train fight had started Akaashi was whisked up into the mysterious man’s arms. He looked at this forward little hot-head and tried getting away, but his grip was tight. 

 

“Let go of me! What are you doing?!” Akaashi shoved, looking back and catching a glance at the six very angry punks running after them while another was listening to the two who’d been defeated in the train car. The only thought he had was, “Shit.” 

 

“Hold on tight!” 

 

And with that the mysterious man, grip tight on Akaashi as he ran, took off through the station. The adrenaline flooding Akaashi’s system was enough to make him dizzy. The sheer speed that this man used to duck and cut through the crowd was incredible. Unfortunately, the pace of the pursuers was to par. 

 

Up ahead Akaashi could see from his vantage point that there was a block in the path. Half the terminals were shut down and there was one hell of a queue in their way. Akaashi looked down and grabbed the man’s lapels. 

 

“There’s no way you can get out of here! There’s a three terminal block!” He snapped. To his dismay, this man was far from slowing down. In fact, he was running faster. Akaashi felt his grip move higher on his shoulders and tighter around his body. No way… no. No way. 

 

“Hope you’re not betting on those odds,” he smirked. 

 

If time could have stopped and a camera had appeared the spectacular fail would’ve gone viral. Behind them, the punks stopped, eyes popping as they watched. The black and white haired man, holding tight to Akaashi, threw his foot up and stepped on the turnstile. It was almost perfect except the moron forgot to lift his other foot. All confidence faded from this man’s face as both him and Akaashi went flying flat onto their faces. 

 

For just a moment all stood still. Akaashi cursed under his breath as he crawled to his knees, face stinging from impact. The other man, however, was sprawled flat on the ground, muttering something angrily to himself. It was almost as if his pride was injured rather than his body. Nobody would blame him, either. That fall was amazing. 

 

Behind him the punks who had been chasing him stopped entirely to keel over and laugh, some even crying as they clutched their knees. They couldn’t even pursue him anymore because that was just such a wonderful fate to befall someone usually so graceful. Even the leader had to wipe tears from his eyes as he turned, waving for the others to follow. 

 

“You know, that’s punishment enough,” he laughed, walking away as some onlookers pulled out phones to snap the sight. 

 

Taking advantage of this man’s inattention, Akaashi rose to his feet, grabbing his bag, and attempted to just walk away and to try and forget that whole encounter. He’d only walked maybe twenty feet, however, when this man rose his face upward and shouted, “No, wait!!” 

 

Thankfully, Akaashi’s legs kicked into action and he immediately started running from this human embodiment of trouble and disaster. He didn’t have time for nor wish for someone like that in his life. 

  
  


Back in his modest apartment, it was quiet, undisturbed, and there weren’t tattooed morons screaming after him. Adrenaline was still making his hands shake, but that couldn’t be helped. Taking several shallow breaths it finally occurred to Akaashi that his hand was bloody and the gash wide open. 

 

Taking deep, audible breaths, Akaashi walked to his bathroom and grabbed the hydrogen peroxide from underneath the sink and bit his lip as he poured the liquid over the wound. The clear fluid immediately fizzed and bubbled against the gash. It stung hot as the chemicals ate away at the bacteria in the wound. Thinking back, Akaashi should and could have gone to the hospital but he panicked. He would go to a clinic in the morning. Did clinics take care of large knife wounds or was that suspicious? Either way, Akaashi needed someone professional to make sure that he wouldn’t lose the use of his right hand. 

 

Shakily patting the cut dry with a paper towel the young man could see the full extent of the injury. Tomorrow. What a wishful thought. Akaashi didn’t even have a bandage big enough for that gash. He resolved to find a nearby clinic but his left hand wasn’t exactly good for looking up things on his phone. Ten minutes passed and Akashi became so frustrated that he threw his phone. 

 

Just then, after a moment of silence, a knock came at the door. It wasn’t a confident declaration of arrival, but a tentative greeting as if the person on the other side had heard Akaashi’s frustrated cry. 

 

Accepting that he needed some kind of help Akaashi opened the door. He was about to take a breath and default to his usual calm self but the sight standing nervously in his doorway made him want to bear teeth and scream. It was that stupid white and black haired punk that was the reason his hand was gashed open in the first place. 

 

“YOU!” Akaashi roared. The young man laughed nervously and looked off to the side. 

 

“Me,” he muttered back. 

 

“What…?! What are you doing here?” 

 

The young man scratched the back of his head nervously and sighed. He looked left and right but said nothing. He finally dug in his pocket to reveal a smooth black leather wallet. Akaashi’s wallet. 

 

Flashback to the agonizingly embarrassing scene of this man face planting in the station. Akaashi didn't remember much but his bag had come open and maybe the wallet fell out, but this guy was nothing but trouble. It was far more likely that he'd stolen it. 

 

Snatching it back, Akaashi hissed under his breath, quickly checking that all his cash and cards were still there. Satisfied that nothing was missing the injured young man finally addressed the one who looked like a guilty puppy who'd destroyed the couch. 

 

“I'm not rewarding you,” Akaashi said flatly. 

 

“I don't want your money,” the other replied. 

 

“Well, you didn't just come here to be a good samaritan. What do you want?” 

 

The young man scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. He almost looked offended at the notion that he held ulterior motives. However, that smirk slid away to reveal a humorous admission of guilt. 

 

“You got me. I've fallen deeply in love with you from the moment we met and I must pursue destiny's call,” he swooned, joking and laughing at his own humor. “More plainly, you were hurt because you jumped in to save me. I may be many things, but ungrateful isn't one of them.” 

 

Akaashi watched as this young man pulled out his own wallet that was chained to his belt loop and withdrew several thousand in yen. It was far too much money any person should be carrying in cash. Even so, this fight-prone man looked at Akaashi and smirked. “You saved my ass. I want to repay you.” 

 

A long pause stretched between them as Akaashi processed what was happening. Looking down he could see an easy five grand in this man’s hands that was extended to him. Was this some kind of a joke? Normal people say thank you or offer to buy you a meal but five thousand in cash? This man really wasn’t balanced. 

 

“I don’t want your money, I want my hand to stop bleeding!” He burst, the young man in the doorway taking a shocked step back. 

 

“Hmm. Well…” This man paused, putting his hand on his chin as he thought about what could be done to repay this kind and beautiful stranger. “Let me take you somewhere that can get fixed?” 

 

Finally, this idiot was making some semblance of sense. Realizing this was the best opportunity he had to getting this bloody gash taken care of Akaashi begrudgingly agreed. At this, the young man smiled and tucked the money back in his wallet. Afterwards, he stuck his hand outward with that stupid confident grin and declared himself, “Bokuto Koutarou.” 

 

Akaashi only stared at the hand and narrowed his eyes bitterly. 

 

“I can’t exactly shake your hand because you fucked up mine,” he said flatly. 

 

“I didn’t cut you! You stuck your hand out,” he defended, closing the door behind Akaashi as they walked down his apartment building’s hall. 

 

“What, do you usually prefer a hemorrhaging kidney to assistance?” 

 

“You’re awfully cheeky for someone who’s gravely injured,” Bokuto retorted, snickering as he pressed the ‘down’ button on the elevator. 

 

“And you’re awfully prideful for someone who face planted in front of his adversaries like a fool.” 

 

“Touche.” 

  
  


Outside the world seemed unfamiliar. Akaashi was a simple guy with little excitement in his life, but this young man, Bokuto Koutarou, had shaken everything up like a chaotic snowglobe. No longer could Akaashi blend in with the cooling autumn nights. No. Now he was outstanding in no spectacular way other than being with this loud, unique person. 

 

Thankfully, the night was cold and the only people staring were too tired to really care. Even so, it took double the time to make it to this clinic because Bokuto kept getting side-tracked like a wayward child. 

 

“Your neighborhood is so cute. Look at these little shops. That balcony garden is just so small. Akaashi this is so small. Do you ever get bored here? Do you work here? Hey, did you grow up here or did you choose to live here?” 

 

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi blurted, the young man having wandered far ahead. 

 

Bokuto looked back and saw this young man standing in the light of a small clinic looking rather tired of his questions. He then realized it was his job to grab the door. The young man smiled shamelessly but apologetically as Akaashi walked inside. 

 

The clinic was a small family-run practice that had been in the district for generations. For that reason, it was trusted but also never too busy. Many people took their ails to local hospitals or  more modern or convenient clinics, but this one served its purpose. 

 

At the counter, a sweet-faced young woman didn’t even bother to ask what had happened. She saw the bloody gash and opened the door to the back examination rooms while yelling for her father. Only the injured were allowed back for obvious reasons. The clinic was small and disease is easily spread in close quarters. With such a deep wound Akaashi could easily have an infected hand. 

 

So, still as childishly as he acted, Bokuto sat in the waiting room with an aloof expression on his face. In the back, Akaashi was being treated by the daughter of the doctor, his head registered nurse. She muttered about the carelessness of boys while she dabbed the injury with a cotton ball held by tweezers. 

 

“I can’t stitch you up until my dad is sure you don’t have any severe nerve damage. This is quite a deep cut. What on earth were you doing, getting in a knife fight?” The nurse frowned, patting the blood away with an alcohol soaked wet wipe. 

 

“Something like that,” Akaashi replied. 

 

Soon after, the doctor appeared. He was a grey-haired man with a hard look on his face. Akaashi got the sense that he was more like a fierce fighter than a gentle healer. Nevertheless, he sat still at the mercy of people far more experienced in medicine than he was. 

 

“You know, I never took you for the fighting type.” This was the doctor’s declaration as he entered the room, his daughter taking a step back in the small room to see just how bad this gash was. 

 

“You don’t actually know me,” Akaashi retorted, eyes half-lidded and piercing. 

 

“Fair. But I know you live a very quiet existence. You pass this clinic every morning walking almost silently. You don’t come home until very late, either. If you had a roommate I’m sure they’d think you’re just a hungry ghost.” 

 

Suddenly Akaashi wanted to leave. What sort of a creepy old man was this, one who watched people and knew their lives so intimately? Was it still safe to stay in this clinic? 

 

“Dad, you’re scaring him,” his daughter nodded. “He’s just a creepy old pervert, watching people from the window.” 

 

This father looked wholeheartedly offended until his daughter cracked a humorous smile. She was just as good at playing people as her father. “In truth,” she went on, “We have older patients who are just as nosy and gossipy. There’s not many younger people who live here so you stand out. You’re also quite beautiful if I don’t say so myself.” 

 

“You shameless girl,” her father scolded. 

 

While the two pandered to the other as a blaming game all Akaashi could wonder is how they kept any patients with attitudes like these. Even so, they were gentle practitioners. The father determined that there was no obvious nerve damage and soon after leaving his daughter began sewing up the wound. 

 

After being warned strictly of not getting the cut dirty or too wet when bathing and washing his hand, Akaashi was set free. Out in the lobby, however, this odd young man had made quite a conversation with a few sweet older women. They blushed as they heard him talk enthusiastically about something. Akaashi could only imagine what it was. 

 

“Oh! There he is! I told you right? Anyway, it was great talking to you. I hope your arthritis gets better,” Bokuto nodded, the older women smiling as if their entire lives had been renewed by talking to such a handsome young man. 

 

“What are you talking about? What did you tell them?” Akaashi demanded, narrowing his eyes at the young man. 

 

“Oh, just the story of how you saved my life and obviously I must repay you until my life debt is paid.” 

 

“Consider it paid. Now please do not come back into my life with such unnecessary acts of violence.” 

 

Akaashi began walking off as if the encounter was so easily shaken off. However, in hindsight, Akaashi knew that interaction was a doomed dangling of fate’s strings. He never got involved in fights like that before. It just wasn’t common sense to be so reckless. Unfortunately for him, Bokuto sensed it too. 

 

“Someone so mysterious and intriguingly beautiful… do you really think I’d let this opportunity slip from my hands so easily?” Bokuto smiled, eyes half-lidded and smile a crooked, devious smirk. It was as if every ounce of goofy lightheartedness had been a delicately crafted facade. In an instant that young man had become something dangerous and serious. It was the same man who’d expertly dodged and punched the two punks on the train. 

 

Taking a smooth breath, Akaashi replied with a flat, “I’m not an opportunity. I’m a person. And stop calling me beautiful. It’s weird. Please leave me alone Bokuto-san.” 

 

Just as quickly as that dark side of this young man had appeared it vanished like he’d had a bucket of ice water thrown in his face. He gasped, folding his arms across his strong chest and laughed like he’d heard nothing funnier in his life. 

 

“Either way, I don’t feel like I’ve repaid you just yet.” 

 

Without a word Akaashi just began walking off like he hadn’t heard something that dramatically insistent. He was a university student, not the assistant hitman to a thug. The young man wanted to entirely ignore this whole day. As long as Akaashi didn’t think about it, it hadn’t happened in his mind. All he wanted to do after that emotionally taxing day was to sleep. 

 

“Akaashi, wait!” Bokuto wailed, trailing him like a lost puppy. “Come on, Akaashi. At least let me buy you dinner?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Do you like drinking? I can take you out drinking.” 

 

“No!” 

 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto wailed. 

 

“No!!” 


End file.
